I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom.

The bush administration orchestrated heath ledger’s death to distract us from the rotting chaos enveloping America right now. Genius, truly. They picked the guy with the perfect amount of fame, potential and family, someone wholly unexpected to die tragically yet somehow in some way not surprising. Someone we care about, but not really at all. Someone famous enough but not too famous. Someone with a decent career, but not America’s sweetheart. You get what I’m saying.

Every single news story right now is about his death, everyone’s talking about it, and I think I just might go mad.

But okay. OKAY. I’ll grant it is worthy of interest; I’m not begrudging anyone their feelings regarding it. I understand that we’re a culture fascinated with death and with celebrity, and the two mixed together brings us to a frenzied state of rapture.

It’s just that a famous person’s death affects my life in absolutely no way whatsoever. Doesn’t matter how bad I might feel or how much I liked/disliked the person’s entertainment output. So while I feel sorry that Ledger’s little girl will never really know her father, there are untold numbers of people suffering the same fate, and worse. I have neither the time nor the inclination to feel for every single person and all their tragedies. There are too many people, billions of them if you believe the news. (did you know one of my favorite movie scenes of all time is the speech from Jack Nicholson’s character in A Few Good Men, when he’s on the witness stand…”Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. My existence, while grotesque to you, saves lives…” I quote it all the time. I love that movie.)

I don’t know how Heath Ledger died, but I know why. Because that’s what people do. You can be famous, you can be rich, you can be pretty, but death comes for everyone. Profound stuff, huh?

Now if this were say Matt Damon, well that changes everything.

My life is more affected by the fact that the effing Bruins lost in horribly embarrassing fashion to the stupid Canadiens last night, 8-2. I hate that team with a fiery passion, it’s way beyond flames on the side of my face. I wish them and all their lousy fans were on a bus that caught fire, then went careening off a cliff, and burst into a mushroom cloud at the bottom of the ravine.

The other night when the boy was gone and I indulged in some recreational adult fun, I ruminated quite a bit in my notebook on the joy of hockey, what I love so much about it, and the essential role fighting plays in the game. I may just share those thoughts in the coming week or so, if I can figure out what the hell I was saying. My notes are not exactly coherent as I tend to use a lot of shorthand and then forget what it means. Do I care that not a single person reading this likes hockey? See above, my whole “no time or inclination to care” bit.

this post shall also serve as my wed bitchery.

4 thoughts on “I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom.

  1. gina

    I agree! I walked in and my mom said in dramatic shock/horror, can you believe Heath Ledger is dead? My reply. Yes. I can believe it. And, he was probably doing drugs. She was quite disappointed with my lack of excitement. She also is an at home subscriber to Star magazine.

  2. Marianne

    A Few Good Men is one of those movies that every time it is on TV I cannot help but watch it. I love that whole scene, I especially love where he goes “you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall” I say that one all the time, heehee.

    I went and saw A Knight’s Tale in the expensive theater solely based on Heath Ledger’s hottiness. And I am not ashamed, I tell you! NOT ASHAMED!

  3. Jonathan

    Man, if you thought hearing about someone else’s dreams was boring, imagine how boring reading some stoner moms’ incoherent hockey thoughts must be.

  4. christa Post author


    a well-pointed out point, jonathan.

    no matter, it’s my site and I can be as boring and stoned as I wanna be. although really you are insulting the stoners of the world by calling me one. I’m a poor representation of their ilk.

    I laugh at you marianne. a knight’s tale? for real?

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